Tells

by Scott Rhine

  “There’s a reason saints aren’t recognized by their own families and they’re only declared after they’re dead!” she said before storming out of the lunchroom.

  I tried to follow, but Blaise was fast.

  Miss Bradstreet left the teachers’ table to meet me at the door. “Go back and eat. I’ll speak to her.”

  Only a quarter of the room watched me return to my table.

  Lilith picked at her kale, pretending it was fascinating.

  ****

  For Ward class, I met Creutzfeldt alone in the teacher’s lounge, which sat across the hall from the headmistress’s office and looked out over the cafeteria’s interior courtyard. Opening the door felt like trespassing, as if Bradstreet would pounce on me from behind at any moment. The Cow was waiting on a leather sofa near a cherry coffee table. Like the basement, the walls were covered with shelves full of reference books: teacher’s edition textbooks, dictionaries, and witchcraft history books. The place was classy but a little old, kind of like her. Because she’d been reading, she was actually wearing her glasses instead of taking them for a walk. Closing her grade book, she stood and extended a hand in greeting.

  I hopped back, avoiding contact. “Please, no. I’ve been bombarded by people’s nonverbals and secrets all day. I don’t want to know if you’re menopausal, smoking marijuana behind the greenhouse, or hot for my dad. I just want to have a normal student-teacher relationship based on respect.”

  “Alrighty, then.” A hint of Minnesota accent slipped through. She slid a stack of books toward me. “I’ll loan you these to get started with the theory of wards. You’ll want to buy your own to add notations.”

  I made a gagging sound. “My brother did that to my Book before he fried it. Ack. I wouldn’t do that to someone else.”

  The casualness of the statement caught her off-guard. “I had no idea. You’re left with no magic at all?”

  I tried to explain my skills at listening, drafting power, and summoning angels.

  She interrupted my tangent on dimes. “Perhaps we should start from the beginning, in order, so it makes sense.”

  I spent most of the period hitting the highlights. Since I’d told the story so many times, I had it down to an art.

  The Cow listened very well, taking notes. After I finished, she laid her pen down. “You desperately need to know a few things before you get yourself or others killed. The first is your talent appears to be with a branch of Kabbalah, the sort that appears in the biblical book of Tobit.”

  “I haven’t heard of that one, and I’ve read the whole Bible.”

  She strode over to the religious reference section and pull out a tome. “It’s one of the seven books that the Protestants removed from the original Catholic Bible.”

  “What? Why would they do that?”

  “They claim it was to get rid of Greek Old Testament texts or things not quoted in the New Testament. In reality, King James couldn’t stand references to women in authority like Judith or Esther after she was crowned queen. I believe that he struck the Maccabees books because they taught rebellion against an unjust monarch who suppressed religion.”

  “Awesome,” I said, flipping the pages.

  “You’ll like the bit about guerilla tactics against war elephants. This volume should stay here. I’d recommend you download a copy to your computer at home. Tobit did miracles, but only by obeying what the angel told him to do. Moses performed similar feats.”

  “And got yelled at when he messed up the instructions by striking the rock.”

  “It’s a very limited scope and can be frustrating.”

  “Tell me about it.” I sat on the coffee table, scanning the chapter she’d indicated, the story of a woman whose husbands kept dying due to some curse or unclean spirit. “Gross. She had to sleep with all these men, even though she didn’t love them? They just passed her around like property!”

  “That’s a topic for a different class, dear. Focus on the miracles and conditions.”

  “Yeah. This sounds authoritarian and obscure, like what happens to me sometimes.”

  “We don’t perform miracles for our own entertainment. We do it because we’re the hands of God. You don’t have to understand it all to succeed, just have faith. Properly channeled faith, my dear, moves mountains.”

  All ears, I snapped the tome shut. “We? Have you done miracles?”

  “Of a sort. When I tried to raise money for a small community devastated by a school shooting, a spirit told me to take the last one-hundred dollars from my account and go to the casino. Obedience always has a personal cost, yet you’ll know when the cause is the right one. I raised over a million dollars in one night—but was then banned from every gaming establishment in my state. Fortunately, the incident brought me to the Council’s attention. God works in several ways at once if we do as he asks.”

  She does charity work. No wonder Dad considers her a friend already. “So you’re definitely the right person to tutor me. While you were talking, I got the sense your job at the school was a type of community service to pay for your infraction.”

  That startled her. “Initially, it was. Though, I renewed my contract after the sentence was complete. The girls here are in desperate need of guidance.”

  “From a good role model such as you. Are we going to draw circles next?”

  “No. Not until we’ve reviewed every one of those books and you can recite the safety measures in your sleep.”

  “Why?”

  Mad Cow ticked off points on her fingers. “The teacher is always right. I shouldn’t need to give reasons, but this once I’ll tell you how stupid you were. First, attempting to use rift energy to block a rift is guaranteed to fail. It violates Maxwell’s law. Second, you can’t draft rift energy from inside a powered circle. It’s like rolling up your car window and then trying to flick a cigarette butt outside. You’ll burn yourself.”

  Hand on hip, I said, “Okay, Miss I-know-everything, where did the energy for my circle come from? Because it lit like an iPhone screen.”

  She leaned forward and said gently, “Energy must be conserved, even with magic. You drained it from Lucretia, who was inside the circle with you.”

  The tears appeared instantly, just as they had when I broke my wrist. The consequences of my actions hurt almost as much. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry. Does she know? Does the Council? I didn’t mean it. She’s my best friend here. Can I give the energy back? What do I do?”

  Creutzfeldt patted my back the way I had the people in the hospital chapel. “Learn from your mistakes, dear. I’ll inform her doctors. Now that we know the cause, we can speed her recovery. No one will blame you for it. Had Lucretia known, I’m sure she would’ve given you the power willingly. You were all very brave.”

  The worst thing was that she was right. I couldn’t risk more spells until I knew what I was doing. Who knew how long I’d have to wait to open my mother’s sole remaining mandala hanging in Dad’s bedroom.

  I was mopping my eyes with borrowed tissues when the bell rang. “I guess I got a taste of my own medicine for a change.” I stood to leave for gym class.

  “A word about something you said earlier.”

  Hot for my dad? Oh crap. I put my hands up to my ears. “I don’t want to know.”

  “Then wear dress gloves all the time. We’ll work on personal shielding soon. The general rule is that whatever you deduce with your gift is private, like in chapel, unless it’s against the law or an imminent threat.”

  “Even then, I’d need independent corroboration.” I knew that much from Dad’s Spy class. “You can’t use intuition in a court of law.”

  “Would you tell me who was smoking behind the greenhouse?”

  “No,” I replied. “I don’t want a reputation as a snitch.” I was having enough trouble fitting in at Colony.

  “You must report such activity. It’s an honor-code violation.”

  Sighing, I said, “Theoretically, you could put a web camera in the apple
tree and check it at three o’clock… and one at the baseball field over lunch. Look where they keep the blanket under the bleachers. Oh, don’t forget to check the tampon dispenser on the second floor of the old building for vaping equipment. But you didn’t hear it from me.”

  She blinked. “Miss Hutchinson, despite your inability to cast spells, you could have quite a future in law-enforcement.”

  I wasn’t sure I wanted to know everyone’s crimes all day every day.

  23. Dinner

  After gym class, we showered. Blaise dried off quickly, but when she tried to remove her shirt from the hook, it stuck fast. Girls in the back of the locker room giggled.

  “Uh-oh,” I said. “The prank spells have begun. Didn’t you ward your locker?”

  Blaise’s face turned dark. “No, Miss Magic. Can you wave your wand and dispel this for me?”

  “Sorry. The lesser spirits won’t undo something they think is funny unless someone with a Book makes them. Even then, it’s difficult to meddle with another witch’s spells. These things usually only last ten or twenty minutes. Just wait it out.”

  “I’ll be late for next period. Never mind. I’ll do it my way.” My cousin jerked upward hard, causing a tear in her shirt about two inches long. The younger girls erupted in giggles. Blaise roared with anger as she pulled her jacket even harder. A smaller patch tore from that. Fortunately, the skirt had been tucked in the sleeve and remained undamaged. However, her shoes wouldn’t budge from the floor of the locker.

  She stormed off barefooted. I took note of the ringleaders who enjoyed themselves at her expense. I didn’t have time to settle accounts today, but I intended to arrange a reckoning in casting class.

  For my last period, I took over Dad’s yearbook class instead of doing study hall. I set up a camera on a tripod and selected a girl from class at random to demonstrate interview techniques. Okay, that’s not entirely true. I picked Salma Harvard because I wanted a reason not to irrationally hate her anymore. Then I arranged her in focus on a stool in front of the camera. “To properly take someone’s photo, you need to learn about them. Once you know their passions and complexities, you can determine the best angle for your shot.”

  I chose the school’s digital camera because it had a remote control, and Dad’s professional gear was under lock and key at the cottage. Getting Salma to talk about herself was the easiest thing I’d ever done. I took a baseline photo at the beginning and kept her chatting for four minutes. Whenever I saw flashes of defining character, I’d snap another without her knowing.

  We were interrupted by Vincenzo knocking at the door. Oh, crap. Did someone just tell him I drained Luca? “M-may I help you?”

  “Excuse me, Miss Isa. When your aunt heard about your dinner tonight, she insisted you take a drink along as a gift. It’s traditional.” The wide bottle he produced bore a nice golden bow, similar to ones I’d seen on high-end wedding gifts.

  I didn’t expect Salma’s reaction, but I took several photos in rapid succession. “Tres bien,” she said, followed by a spate of French. All I recognized was the word cognac. “Where are you eating, the governor’s mansion?”

  “Lilith’s house. She wanted to show me her room and stuff.” I accepted the bottle from him and placed it out of sight under the desk. “Thank you, Mr. Benedetto. That was very considerate of you.”

  He bowed and departed without another word.

  Salma’s look told me that she’d never scored an invitation to the Matriarch’s for dinner.

  I distracted her by waking up the laptop and showing the yearbook team the thirty photos I’d taken. Yep, she definitely likes seeing her own portrait. I winnowed the list, selecting the two best shots. Then, I explained why I discarded the others so they’d know what to look for. “These are just examples. You guys will probably do a much better job. Dad will take several rolls worth to get the money shot, but these have enough of Salma’s truth to qualify for our yearbook-staff bulletin board.”

  “Her smile reaches her eyes,” said one of her cohort.

  Another laughed. “What to you expect? She was talking about a sale.”

  “Could you text me a copy?” Salma asked.

  “Sure.” I wrote down her number before realizing that I no longer had a phone, so I had to settle for e-mail. She’d have it on social media by the end of class. “Now I want you all to split up into pairs and practice this technique for five minutes each.”

  Because they had an odd number on the yearbook team, only nine, Salma interviewed me. Fortunately, everyone else was too busy to listen in. “So why did you pick those shoes?”

  She says that like I stepped in dog poop. “They’re comfortable.”

  “Oh, so you prefer women like your aunt?”

  I tried to respond a couple ways and failed. How can I know too little and too much about my family all at the same time?

  “It’s okay,” said Salma. “Our people have always been accepting of alternatives.”

  “I actually have no preferences.”

  “Ah. One of those. Which letter in the LGBTQ alphabet is that?”

  “I’m fifteen.”

  “Really?” That seemed to scandalize her more than the possibility of my whole family being hereditary lesbians.

  Great, now that will be all over the school next. “I wear these sneakers for volleyball, and they’re good for running. I’ve needed to run several times this weekend and wanted to be prepared today.”

  She gave me the name of a reasonably priced store with a better product. She ended up talking for most of the allotted time. She didn’t understand the concept that interviews were for finding out more about the other person, but she wasn’t as vile as I’d made her out to be the first day.

  ****

  Mrs. Cotton picked us up in a stretch limo, the kind where the seats in back faced each other and a partition separated us from the driver. Her hair had an elaborate weave that took hours to achieve. It made her look like she was wearing a crown, but the way she raised her chin with pride added the regal touch. She didn’t need the jewelry and designer labels to impress people.

  Lilith put my books and our backpacks in the trunk while I gave Mrs. Cotton the fancy bottle of booze. “How considerate,” she said, placing it in the vehicle’s portable bar like a can of Diet Coke. “I suppose I should give you your gift now, too.”

  I stared at the wrapped box that was half the size of my shoe.

  Lilith ran back and hopped on the seat, making me bounce. “Open it! I helped pick it out. I hope you like it.”

  “No. You don’t need to give me anything. Dinner and your company is enough.” Was the Matriarch trying to bribe me or cash in on the recent wave of luck people had been receiving for helping me?

  When Lilith slammed the door, the car pulled away from the curb.

  Her mother winced at her behavior but didn’t dress her down in front of me. Kudos for that much parent awareness. “See what it is before your decline.”

  Curiosity got the better of me, and I carefully folded the wrapping paper back. If I didn’t damage the box, they could take it back. The watch phone inside was the latest model, with all the bells and whistles.

  Lilith said, “It’s in rose-gold. They didn’t offer that option anymore, but mother knows a person.”

  Signaling her daughter to zip it, Mrs. Cotton said, “Well? I heard you needed a replacement after the response team confiscated the last one. We copied over all your contacts.”

  “It’s very thoughtful. Why a watch?”

  My friend held up a wrist with a matching model of the same watch. “Because it has a GPS tracker, a falling-down detector, and a heart-rate monitor so they can protect you from kidnapping. It asks you if you’re okay, and if you don’t respond inside sixty seconds, it calls your emergency contact.”

  “You’ve earned it by sharing that new protective-circle configuration with us,” said her mother.

  I opened the box and examined the fine piece of electronic jewelr
y. Honestly, it looked like a pretty manacle. With considerable fiddling, I found the emergency medical service—Freya the SWAT-team medic. “I couldn’t take such an expensive present for using what the angels gave me for free. It feels wrong.”

  Mrs. Cotton sighed. “You’re just like your father.”

  “Thank you.”

  “It wasn’t a compliment.”

  Frowning, Lilith whispered, “Mom, you’re blowing this. I don’t have many friends. I don’t want you chasing this one away.”

  “I’m afraid I must insist, as matriarch.”

  The subtle signals were adding up now. “You’re getting pressure from someone inside your organization.”

  Mrs. Cotton gestured to me. “See. Two minutes, and she gets it. This isn’t personal. I was named as a compromise candidate. Can you tell my youngest what that means?”

  I turned toward my friend. “The vote was close, but no faction had a majority. So they were forced to pick someone that everyone respected—not the richest or most talented, but someone who could give all sides a little of what they wanted. No offense.”

  “None taken,” said the matriarch. “Every day, I have to comprise and balance for the greater good. Not all those on the Council follow the path of Light, but if enough people agree, we keep the peace.”

  “And some of the darker witches want to know where I am in order to steer clear of me?” I guessed.

  “You made Melisende Bradstreet weep from conviction. The whole Council is terrified of you, sweetheart. In fact, after experiencing you for myself, I don’t think I’ll be spending any more time with you than absolutely necessary.”

  “No. You promised,” said Lilith.

  “She can still eat and visit, just not with me.”

  I lowered my eyes. “I can promise not to look at you or touch you.”

  “Your kind could tell by the tone of my voice if I’m lying.”

  “Yeah.”

  Mrs. Cotton lifted my chin. “I genuinely like you, girl. The world needs more people like you, but it also needs people like me in the shadows.”